They Make 'Em Cute So You Don't Kill 'Em
Leelo spent the entirety of 4 A.M. to 6 A.M. writhing in our bed like a skinned eel, kicking Seymour in the kidneys, grabbing my hair to pull me in whatever position he deemed optimal for either kisses or rubbing my elbows, and laughing like a loony boy. It did not do much for my reserves of brain-wave-dampening unconditional mommy love.
I couldn't really do anything besides lie there, silently willing him to fall the fuck asleep, vowing to cut off all my hair, and freaking out wondering if I had caused this episode by giving him the eggs his DAN doctor said he could have for dinner. (One result from our series of meetings yesterday was the go-ahead for the methodical re-introduction of eggs and dairy.)
Finally, he started wailing "Pants off! Pants off!" I took his footie jammies off and realized that our otherwise infallible babysitter had put socks on underneath said jammies, and the socks had scrunched down and gotten all uncomfortable. Aiiigh! Why couldn't he have told me this first? Oh, right, we're working on that whole functional language thing.
Waking again after that session was brutal. I snapped out of my haze quickly, though, when I realized we had no more of the boy's rice bread in the house. (He eats very little else nowadays.) Then I relaxed, remembering that we had one loaf left, albeit the kind with forbidden raisins that I'd bought accidentally because it got shelved with the non-raisiny loaves. What the hey, I could just dig out all the raisins and it would be the same as any other loaf of rice bread, right?
Therapist L arrived right after breakfast to begin Leelo's morning session. I decided to take a survey of the yard I've been ignoring since summer, got distracted by a good weedy patch, sat down, and started pulling. Grubbing in the dirt with bird songs swirling about my head while the sun warmed my back proved to be an antidote for my post-AZ black mood. I had begun to truly bliss out, when the front door opened and Therapist L yelled, "Squid! Leelo's barfing! A lot!"
Both he and the carpet were drenched with liquid toast. Seems I didn't get all the raisins out after all and they'd upset his tummy. Poor bit. Bath time for him, me, and the carpet! Lateness for the sacred coffee hour at Main St. Coffee! Damn, damn, damn. He's been fine ever since, it seems. He even played me the Totoro opening song on his kazoo.
I know he's not at fault for any of this. I am just, again, very very tired.
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